


Philocaly

by orphan_account



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Romance, Slow Burn, but not really, just some teen drama, peter doesn't think he deserves reader, reader doesn't think she deserves peter, they just get together slowly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-04-22 10:55:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22170652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “You look good when you smile.”Peter looks at you with wide eyes, obvious surprise on his face. Honestly, you’re just as surprised. You didn’t mean to say it out loud, but the minute you see his lips curve up you think it:‘He’s cute.’“T-thank you,” he says, his voice cracking. “You have a nice face— I mean not in a weird way— you’re just- “He trips over himself trying to find the right words. His eyes dart everywhere but your voice. That’s cute too, you think. Especially the pink cheeks and timid grin.Realizing Peter Parker’s cute is the first mistake.Or, you don't mean to fall in love with the nerd sitting next to you, but you do. And you don't regret it one bit.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 85





	1. diamond.

**Author's Note:**

> this will not follow the events of infinity war, endgame, or far from home. 
> 
> love never dies a natural death. it dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. it dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. it dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

If there’s one thing, you feel everyone should know about you; it’s that you hate science. Too many words you don’t understand, too many complicated phrases. It’s not fun. You have no interest in it.

If there’s one thing, you don't want anyone to know; it’s that you’re a cheater. Homework? Copy it off someone. Tests? Copy it off someone. You’re sure the saying ‘cheaters never prosper’ apply to some, but it’s not you. You’ve cheated your way through your first year of high school and are going to do it through the rest of this year, too. 

Boys are the easiest target. With a quick bat of your eyes and a light touch, they’re probably willing to throw their life down for you. Idiots. 

Your freshman year you’re able to skip any science classes and you thank whatever god is watching you for it. Sophomore year you aren’t as lucky. Biology, the study of life, or something. You can’t remember most of it. Because, yeah, you cheat your way through that. It’s also where you meet Peter Parker.

He’s some scrawny freshman you’re made to sit next to. At least he’s not some obnoxious snob. Peter doesn’t say much for the first week. You’re the one doing all the talking, and he’s barely mumbling back responses. 

At first, it’s only about the homework. You ask him for it, and he gives you it without thinking. But then you begin to get to know him. Really know him. He’s got pretty eyes and curly locks and his voice may not sound like honey, but you like it anyway. Light freckles litter his cheeks, and his hands are warm. 

“You look good when you smile.”

Peter looks at you with wide eyes, obvious surprise on his face. Honestly, you’re just as surprised. You didn’t mean to say it out loud, but the minute you see his lips curve up you think it:

‘He’s cute.’

“T-thank you,” he says, his voice cracking. “You have a nice face— I mean not in a weird way— you’re just- “

He trips over himself trying to find the right words. His eyes dart everywhere but your voice. That’s cute too, you think. Especially the pink cheeks and timid grin. 

Realizing Peter Parker’s cute is the first mistake. 

Your second mistake happens on Valentine’s Day. You’ve never enjoyed the holiday before, mostly because it serves no purpose. If school’s still in session, what’s the point of a holiday? You’re no stranger to receiving gifts either. You get, at the very least, three each year. The three guys with the biggest balls will give you flowers or chocolates and ask you out; each year you say no. 

Sophomore year is no exception. You get a small box of chocolates—from some guy you’ve only talked to twice— during your first period. You turn him down with an all too fake smile. Your second period goes by without any problems. Third comes along and another guy hands you a single rose; you nearly crush the stem in your hands. No one dares come up to you during lunch. Boys, you’ve come to learn, are intimidated by large groups of girls; it’s why you’re sitting with them right now. You think it’s over as you head to your fourth.

Peter seems more nervous than usual. He has that look on his face. The one he usually wears right before big exams or finals. You smile as you sit down next to him. He tries to return it, but it appears to be more of a grimace. 

“You good?” you ask casually, pulling out your homework. “Your face is kinda green.” 

“Yep,” he squeaks, his voice breaking. You catch Peter staring at the chocolates and rose hanging out of your bag. His frown causes you to frown. You close the bag, so he can’t look anymore. 

“Boys,” you say, but the air is suddenly more tense. “Just some random crap they got me; nothin’ special.”

Peter nods but doesn’t say anything else. The rest of the class is silent as you both turn your attention to the teacher. It feels unnatural to not talk to Peter. To not whisper jokes and to have the teacher tell you to keep it down. The bell rings, and Peter packs his stuff up slowly, you follow his lead. There are words hanging around you. On the tip of your tongue and in between his teeth. 

“Hey,” Peter says, and you look at him. He fiddles with something in his hands, glancing from his bag to you. 

“Hey,” you reply. 

“I made you this,” he says, his words muddling together. Peter places a small, plastic heart in your hand. In the center reads ‘My Love.’ “I made it in our stem club; you know the 3-D printer? I mean, it’s nothing much, but I thought that, maybe, you’d like it. It’s okay if you don’t—it’s not like its flowers or something— I won’t be mad. It’s kinda stupid, huh? I should just- “

You cut Peter off by pressing a quick peck on his cheek. They’re noticeably red and his smile blinds you, but you return it. 

“Thank you,” you say, and for the first time you mean it.

You’re not sure if luck is in your favor or not, because you and Peter get another class together: physics. It’s boring and tedious, but having Peter sitting side you and giggling at your jokes makes it better. Until he’s suddenly busy. It’s a gradual change. He arrives to class a little late, sneaks out to the bathroom too much. You notice it, but it’s not your business. Then he’s absent for a week, and you’re left to listen to the teacher instead. When you finally ask why he’s so busy, he mumbles out something about a ‘Stark Internship. ‘You can’t tell if it’s a lie. Peter starts calling off hangouts and study sessions, apologizing and begging for forgiveness. At some point you don’t bother trying. You refuse to have a stupid sophomore ruin your junior year. 

You request for the teacher to switch your seat in physics. You and Peter don’t talk after that. It’s your third mistake; falling for a boy who doesn’t put you first. 

“Who cares?" Mila says, rolling her eyes. You can tell she's mad at you for moping around, but you can't help it. Having Peter ignore you is upsetting. "You have Adrian trying to hop in your pants and you're worried about a nobody in acadec? Who even does acadec?" 

Mila's been your best friend since freshmen year. You met through other mutual friends and hit it off well. She has that easy-going smile and laugh and straight, brown hair you've always been jealous of. Sometimes you think she only stays friends with you because she's prettier than you. You never mention it, though. Without her, you don't have anyone else. 

"Liz did acadec before she moved," you point out plainly, not looking up from the toenail you're painting. You can almost hear her rolling her eyes. "Adrian's fine as hell, but I'm pretty sure he has the brain of a five-year-old."

"Oh, he most def is disappointingly stupid," Mila replies, dropping her phone on to her pillow. The bed squeaks as she rolls closer to you. "But I heard he has a big di-"

"Gross; how do you even know that?"

"Genevieve exposed him last year, girl," she replies. "If you weren't so riding Patrick or whatever his name is, you'd have seen it."

"It's Peter," you say, blowing on your toes and placing the nail polish to the side. "And I've been purer than the Virgin Mary lately."

She laughs and you join her because it's all you can think to do. 

The rest of your junior year goes by quickly. You finally decide to give Adrian a chance and he helps to give you something to do. Literally and figuratively. Adrian's one of those typical football players. Tall with dark hair and eyes, built with booming laughter and dimples. He's painfully attractive, but his smile isn't as warm as Peter's, and his hand doesn't fit into yours as easy. It doesn't matter, because by the end of summer break everyone seems to know the two of you are an item.

You think that you're over Peter. It couldn't have been more than a short crush, but when you see him on your first day back, you feel like throwing up. He's looking past you and at the hand that's holding Adrian's. You look away, your stomach clenching, and walk past him with your head held high. You're a senior now. No silly underclassman is going to get the better of you.

Life has a funny way of proving you wrong. 

You walk into your second period and find Peter there. That’s fine, you think, there’s absolutely no way the seating chart will make you sit next to him. You almost laugh out loud when you see your name’s right next to each other. 

Peter says nothing as he sits down next to you. There’s nothing to say, but words are clogged in your throat. Peter doesn't so much as look at you as you sit next to him. You wish for him to say something, anything, but he's quiet and you are too; because there's nothing else for you to do.

Class ends and you're packing up so fast you don't realize the keychain hanging off your backpack goes flying. Not until Peter says something. 

"You dropped this."

His voice sounds different somehow, more mature maybe. It's finally lost that squeakiness all teenage boys seem to have. Your heart beats faster as you turn around. He's grown. Peter isn't as skinny and little, but he’s filled out more. 

"Thanks," you say as you take the keychain back. It's the plastic heart he gave you for Valentine's Day. 

"You kept it?" he asks even though he knows the answer. His fingers are so much warmer than Adrian's as you brush them to grab the heart. 

"Of course, I did," you reply, swallowing thickly. It's still awkward, you can tell, but you smile at Peter and he hesitantly returns it. "Do you have lunch right now?"

"Yeah," he says, gripping the straps to his backpack. 

"Wanna sit with me?"

"Yeah."

You both smile at each other and suddenly it feels like it'll be okay.


	2. opal

Peter Parker isn’t sure of a lot of things. He isn’t sure if Mr. Stark takes him seriously. He isn’t sure if Ned can really keep a secret. He isn’t sure if Aunt May’s learning how to bake cookies without burning them. He isn’t sure if he’s cut out to be Spider-Man. 

Peter Parker is sure of one thing, though; he hates your boyfriend. 

You swear up and down Adrian and you aren’t dating. You’re talking, whatever that means. All he knows is that you two are together. 

Peter also knows he’s jealous. He can feel it in the way his stomach twists violently and his chest constricts. The only relief he gets is knowing you don’t love Adrian. Not with the way you look at him. He’s known Adrian since middle school. While he isn’t a bully, he’s not an upstanding citizen either. Dumb, too. Peter thinks— knows you deserve better. Not that he’ll say anything. 

At first, he doesn’t, anyway. 

Adrian doesn’t seem like a terrible person. Maybe a little dull, but he doesn’t treat you badly. At least, Peter didn’t think so. It isn’t until he hears Adrian talking about you to his stupid friends, that he decides he should give you his opinion. 

“If you don’t go after her, I woulda,” the blond friend says, clapping Adrian on the back as the group of three laugh. Peter grips his locker tighter. 

“I heard she’s an easy fuck,” the third one says, joining in on the laughter. “Ethan says she’s talks too much. It’s why he dumped her ass.” 

Ethan, your ex you dated sometime between your sophomore and junior year. He can remember the breakup, and how you didn’t seem too bothered by it. Peter feels physically ill listening to them. They shouldn’t be talking about you like this. Adrian should be defending you. Peter nearly rips his locker door off as Adrian speaks for the first time. 

“She does talk a lot,” he replies, a grin that makes Peter want to throw up tugs on his lips,” fucking keeps her quiet.” 

Peter slams his locker door shut, not bothering to grab the books he needs. Adrian and his friends look at him with mild annoyance. They ignore him, though, and he’s grateful. They’re not the loud type of bully like Flash, just shitty people. 

He wants to call them out. Say you’re more than that. It’s a combination of jealousy and rage pumping through his veins that doesn’t make him think clearly. Peter almost walks away. He’s so close to turning and leaving, but Adrian speaks, and rationality leaves him. 

“She’d make a better fuck if she shut u- “

Peter spins around so fast he nearly winds himself. He’s not thinking as he approaches the three. There’s no time to think. His hand connects with Adrian’s face and there’s a loud crunch sound as he stumbles backwards, clutching his nose. His knuckles burn slightly, and there’s guilt beginning to weigh on him, but he can’t help the satisfied feeling bubbling in him. 

“Man, what the fuck!” Adrian snarls, cupping his nose tighter as blood oozes down. His nose might be broken, and Peter doesn’t care.

When his blond friend grabs him by the shoulder, harshly shoving him backwards, Peter realizes he may have made a mistake. He knows he can take all three of them on. The problem is no one else does. They aren’t meant to know. Spider-Man is the one who stands up for the weak; Peter Parker is the weak. 

The other one swings at Peter’s stomach, and he trips and finally lands on back. Adrian, with blood coating his chin and his eyes wild, punches him in his face. Peter feels his head slam into the floor again, rattling him. That’ll bruise. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Parker? Putting your hands on me,” Adrian says lowly, grinding his teeth together. He grabs the front of his shirt, pulling so that their noses nearly touch. Peter almost spits in his face. 

“You shouldn’t be talking about her like that,” he says quietly, narrowing his eyes through the welling pain in his left eye. 

“If you want my bitch so bad you can take her,” Adrian snaps, pulling his hand back to punch him again. Peter knew he could stop him. Probably even break his wrist while he’s at it. He doesn’t though, because they can’t know. It’s his own fault he’s about to get his face pummeled. 

“Rodriguez, I would let Parker go if I were you,” a teacher says, and Peter can’t help but feel relief. 

His blond friend comes to Adrian’s defense, saying it’s Peter who began the fight. The teacher holds up her hand, effectively shutting the boys up. Adrian releases Peter, standing up and rubbing the crusted and fresh blood from his face. Peter stands up easily, dusting his sweater off as he brushes past Adrian and follows the teacher to the office. 

May isn’t going to be happy about this. 

“Oh Peter!” May says, standing up from the seat as Peter exits the principal’s office. He walks up to her slowly, an icepack on his eye. She brings her hand to his cheek. 

“Hey May,” he says quietly, letting her look at the bruise. She gasps softly, bottom lip trembling. He almost wishes he didn’t do it, but then he remembers what Adrian says about you and his chest burns. You deserve better. 

Without another word, May leads him out of the school. Suspension for the rest of the week isn’t that bad. The principal could expel him. Besides, it’s already Tuesday, so he’s only missing three days. 

May doesn’t say anything as they drive him. Peter appreciates the silence. He wonders if you’ll even notice his absence. Or if Adrian’ll tell you what he did. He’ll probably make Peter out to be the bad guy. 

Peter doesn’t hide his surprise as they walk up to the apartment in silence as well. He figures May’ll eventually ask why he did it, but she keeps her lips pressed in a tight line. She just looks tired, and Peter feels partly at fault. While he regrets hurting May, he doesn’t regret his fist meeting Adrian’s face. 

May places herself on to the couch, patting the spot next to her for Peter. Reluctantly, he joins her. She’s silent for only a moment before she begins to speak. 

“I’m not sure how to deal with this,” she confesses.” I’m really trying though, Peter. With the whole Spider-Man thing and constantly risking your life. I’m trying so hard; but you need to talk to me. I know you wouldn’t hit that boy for no reason.” 

He pauses, like he might try to push her away and leave, but her hand contacts his. There are tears in her eyes and Peter can feel his begin to burn. Setting the icepack on to the table, he allows her thumb to rub his hand. 

“He was... he was talking about my friend,” he starts, staring at the shag carpet beneath his feet. “His friend said she was easy, and I started to get so mad. I thought maybe he’d defend her, he’s her boyfriend, but he just— just let him! He said she’d be better if she shut up and I— I was so angry May. I didn’t even think about it. She doesn’t deserve to be talked about like that. I mean, she deserves better. She doesn’t deserve some jerk like him.” 

Peter breathes deeply as she finishes. He turns his head toward May, the tears beginning to slip past his cheeks no matter how badly he wants them to stop. His jaw clenches as May begins to rub his back. 

“Have you told her how you feel?” she asks gently. He shakes his head. 

“I’m not any better for her,” he says quietly, aggressively wiping the wetness on his cheeks. “I can’t be what she needs.” 

May brings him into a tight hug, and he closes his eyes; wishing to just be a normal boy for once. 

Peter can hear the doorbell but doesn’t bother moving from his bed. It’s either Ned or Michelle, or both. Probably trying to see the bruise for themselves and the real story. So, he lets May answer the door instead. 

There’s talking, but he doesn’t bother to pay attention. His face is sinks deeper into the pillow as he flops on to his stomach. The bedroom door creaks open, silently shutting as the person enters. 

“I don’t wanna talk, Ned,” he says, the pillow muffling his words. 

“Good thing I’m not Ned.” 

At the sound of your voice, Peter pulls away from the pillow. His eyes are wide and his lips part as he sees you standing there. 

“Your eye doesn’t look too bad,” you say, walking over to his bed. Peter struggles to sit himself up as you plop down beside him. “Adrian said he beat the shit outta you.” 

At his name, he frowns, looking away from you. 

“He didn’t.” The words come out with force. 

“I heard you did it defending me,” you say, even quieter. “Was he... was he really talking shit about me?” 

A part of him wants to lie; because maybe you do have genuine feelings for Adrian. A bigger part nudges at him to tell the truth. 

“Yeah,” Peter says,” he was.” 

You nod, not looking shocked or hurt. It’s almost like you expect it of him. 

“He tried telling me you punched him because you’re jealous of us. Not because of what he said,” you say,” I knew he was lying.” 

“How?” 

“You’re better than him,” you answer, and Peter feels his heart jump. “Broke it off with him. ‘S not even that cute.” 

He can hear the pounding in his ears, and he knows his cheeks turn red the instant you smile at him. The only time you’ve looked at him this softly was when he gave you keychain. Peter realizes he’s staring when you break eye-contact, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. It’s a cute reaction. 

“Wanna watch Star Wars and eat burnt popcorn?” he asks, already moving off his bed. Your grin returns even brighter. 

“Duh,” you reply, and he smiles right back. As he’s leaving the bed completely, you manage to grab his wrist. 

“Yeah?” he questions, cocking his head to the side. 

“Thank you,” you say with such gentleness his stomach involuntarily flutters. “I really do appreciate you, Peter.” 

He thinks he says, ‘you’re welcome’, before stumbling out of room. His heart on his sleeve the whole while.


	3. peridot

You wonder if Peter Parker knows you think he’s cute. 

It’s not like you hide it, or attempt to; openly staring at him in class until even the tips of his ears turn red. You like teasing him. You like having his attention all on you. And maybe, just maybe, you might like him. 

You lean against your fist, watching Peter bite the end of his pencil. He’s too concentrated on the chemistry assignment to notice. You should be doing it too, but you’re not. Peter always lets you copy off him. With each answer though, you find yourself feeling more guilty about it. Like you’re using him. You’ve never felt ashamed before, so why now? You blame it on the fact his smile has been dizzying you a lot more recently. 

“Petey,” you coo, purposely leaning close to his ear and blowing warm air against it. He visibly jumps, face already aflame. “I have a confession to make.” 

You’re mostly teasing, but a small part of you feels serious. Perhaps Peter picks up on it, because his face softens as he regards you. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, like he knows. 

“I’ve been using you for homework,” you say, a frown forming on your lips. It’s a joke, even though it’s not, but admitting it out loud somehow makes you feel worse. 

“I know,” he replies, heading tilting to the side and giving you that confused smile. It takes every bone in your body to not squeeze him to death. 

“I feel bad.” 

“You don’t need to be. I’d do anything you asked,” Peter says so bluntly even he seems surprised by it. Your eyes are wide and your chest burns. His admittance is almost too much for you to handle. You press your palm against your stomach, afraid the fluttering would never stop. 

It takes you only a moment to compose yourself, but he’s almost stuttering out an explanation on his words. You cut him off. 

“Anything?” 

He flinches like you’ve slapped him. You begin to wonder if he didn’t mean it when he slowly nods his head. His face is pink, but he looks you steadily in the eye. 

“Yeah,” he says so lowly it causes goosebumps to form on your arms. The air is too tense, and you’re suddenly hyper aware you may like Peter more than you think. You’re quick to change the topic. 

“Aw, but you’re always doing stuff for me,” you say, pouting playfully and batting eyelashes at him. “I wanna do something for my favorite underclassman.” 

Peter considers you for a moment; trying to see if you’re joking or not. You’re not quite sure yourself, but he must’ve figured it out, because he quickly beams at you. You tell your brain to shut up before it goes haywire. 

“There’s a new Italian place that opened up where I live,” he says excitedly, eyes gleaming happily. “If you go with me, I’ll call us even.” 

“Are you asking me on a date, Parker?” 

Peter breaks the led on his mechanical pencil as he splutters out a reply. You shouldn’t feel this much satisfaction over making him blush, but you do. 

“I didn’t say it was a date,” he mumbles, nervously eyeing around the classroom. “Unless... you want it to be one? I mean— I don’t want- um, I mean I do want it to be a date. B-but only if you want it to be, of course.” 

He stops talking abruptly. His face is pink and he’s staring at his homework packet like it holds the key to life’s mysteries. You feel your smile soften. 

“Then it’s a date, my dearest Peter,” you say, bumping your shoulders against his gently. “This restaurant better be good. Otherwise we’ll be forced to watch the Harry Potter’s movies with stale chips and burnt brownies.” 

Peter laughs at your attempt to lighten the mood. As much as you like him a blushing mess, you prefer when he acts normal around you. When he rants about some nerd stuff you’ll never understand or holds your hand during jump scares in horror movies.

That’s the Peter you enjoy most. 

* * *

“Why are you making an ugly face?” your sister asks from the bed. You don’t know how she even sees your face with her phone so close to hers. 

“I’m nervous,” you snap back, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles from your sundress. She snorts. 

“You’re going on a date, not taking an ap exam,” she says, dangling her feet off your bed. You can tell she’s enjoying the way you’re nervously twitching.

Slipping your fingers through strands of your hair, you curl the ends around your thumb. It’s just Peter, you remind yourself. Peter’s basically your best friend (besides Mila), mainly because you don’t have many, but also because he’s genuinely nice. The fact he’s incredibly cute is a bonus. So, what if you have a microscopic crush on him? People form crushes on their friends all the time. 

Maybe Peter likes you.

The light tingle of butterflies in your stomach irritate you. You’ve never cared about a boy having feelings for you, but if it’s Peter, you guess you’ll make an exception. 

The doorbell ringing causes you to jump, nearly slipping as you make your way downstairs. You ignore your sister as she yells for you to not make her an aunt tonight. Hopefully Peter didn’t hear that. 

You open the door, hands sweatier than they should be and heart racing too fast. 

“Parker,” you greet as you open the door, one hand coming to rest on your hip. Peter’s white shirt and plain light jeans make you feel overdressed. His arms look good, though; like, really good. Has he always been this muscular?

“Hey,” he replies, voice an octave higher than usual. He clears his throat before continuing. “You look—um—nice.” 

“Just nice?” you ask teasingly, closing the door behind you as you step out. You give him a little twirl, pulling up the ends of your white dress to show it off. “I think you look very handsome. Your arms look especially good.” 

You lay on the compliments thick, ignoring the way it makes your chest feel fuzzy. Peter smiles shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Everyone thinks you’re beautiful,” he says awkwardly shuffling around. 

“I don’t care what they think,” you say, wrapping your arms around one of his. “I only care if you think so.” 

You can’t tell if you mean your words or not. 

Peter tenses against you. You don’t need to look at him to tell he’s blushing, so you smile and pull him along. 

“Now, take me to eat, Parker.” 

* * *

You’ve never had this much fun on a date.

Dating, for you, has always been a quick bite to eat and then getting handsy with who you’re out with. Maybe your past boyfriends have been using you. Maybe you’ve realized it. You ignore it though, because ignoring it is easier than thinking about. If you ignore it, then it’s okay they like the way you look and not the way you think. It’s okay if they press their lips against you to shut you up. It’s okay they tell you sweet words to get into your pants. You’re fine with pretending it doesn’t hurt. 

The streets are less crowded at night. You and Peter revel in the silent city air as you both walk together closely. The warmth from his arm feels heavy against yours. There’s a dark part of your mind, the part that whispers poison into your veins, that tells you Peter isn’t interested. He wants to get into your pants like Adrian. Not that it matters, because you’ll just ignore it. Even if he is, you’ll let him. You’ll let him use you if he makes you feel alive. You’re disgusting, but that’s fine, because you don’t need to think about it. 

Something brushes against your hand and you glance down. Peter’s pinky hesitantly hooks around yours. You smile. With poison in your veins, you ignore your dark thoughts and let your fingers intertwine with his. 

“Thanks for coming with me,” Peter awkwardly starts. His grip on your hand is soft, but his palms are rough. 

“Anything for you Petey,” you reply smoothly. If he can say it, you can too. 

“Aunt May really likes you,” he says, “she didn’t believe me when I said I was the one who asked you out.” 

“I wouldn’t either,” you tease, tracing the top of his hand with your thumb. “I thought I was gonna have to make the first move.” 

Peter stops abruptly, and you would’ve fallen over had it not been for him holding you up. His eyebrows are furrowed but he doesn’t look mad. 

“You were waiting for me?” he asks. His lips press tightly together before he continues. “But you were with Adrian.” 

“I already told you I didn’t like him.” 

“Then why were you with him?” 

What can you even say to that? Tell him it’s because you want the validation? To admit that what everyone says behind your back is true? Call yourself out for being the whore you are? It’s the poison again. Syrupy and thick and it leaves you bitter. 

Instead of replying, you shrug and give him a smile.

Peter frowns, opening his mouth to reply, but he’s cut off. The shrill alarm of a store, you can’t see which one, goes off. It’s accompanied by the gunshots firing but you can’t focus on that. Peter tugs you behind a car before you can focus on what’s happening. His body presses against yours, but you’re in a daze. The screaming and smoke make you feel numb. Peter says something but you can’t hear what it is. 

He grabs your face, forcing you to look at him. His lips move and you can barely make out what he’s saying:

”Call the police, I’m going to get help.” 

You don’t have time to argue. Peter holds your cheeks fondly, before standing and rushing away. The metal of the car pressing against your back makes your stomach churn. Your fingers shake as you pull your phone. With a numb tongue, you tell the dispatcher what’s happening. You don’t know what street you’re on, but the woman assures you it’s fine. Her words of comfort mean nothing. 

You press your face into your knees, trying to calm the tremble in your lips. This isn’t supposed to happen. You’re supposed to be on a date with— 

Your head pulls up and you look around, bewildered. Peter. Sweet, sweet Peter. You don’t want to get up. You want to curl up under the car and never leave; but Peter. What if he’s hurt? Why did he even run off? Your legs feel like jelly, but you stand anyway. You must find Peter. 

The police cars hurl past you. Their sirens shriek as smoke ravages the night air. You begin to walk towards where you saw Peter run off. You’ve barely rounded a corner before a masked figure lands in front of you. Spider-Man being here shouldn’t be a surprise. 

“Took care of the bad guys, so I wanted to escort the pretty damsel home,” he says smoothly. Perhaps if he didn’t look so comical, you’d feel flattered. Spider-Man reaches out for you, but you smack his hand away. You don’t have time for this. 

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you say dismissively. “I need to find my friend.” 

“I already took him home,” he replies,” Peter’s the one who told me to get you.” 

You silently regard him. 

“You know Peter?” you ask but you already know the answer. Spider-Man nods enthusiastically. 

“Yep! We’re, like, besties,” he says proudly. It almost sounds like he’s trying to show-off. 

“Alright then, my knight in shining armor,” you say, raising your arms, “take me home.” 

Spider-Man hesitates for a moment, before carefully sliding his arms around your waist. You wonder if he’s blushing under the mask. Pressing your body flush against his, you wrap your arms around his neck. He tenses, then suddenly you’re in the air. You can feel the wind against your face as you sail through the streets. You gasp, adrenaline pounding in your chest, and grip on him tighter than before. 

“Having fun?” You hear Spider-Man ask, but you’re too busy clinging on to him for dear life to respond. 

You’re only swinging for a few minutes, but it feels like hours before he finally lands at the front of your house. Your hair is a mess and your dress are wrinkled, but you can’t stop yourself from laughing. You know there’s something familiar about Spider-Man. 

“Thank you,” you say, gently pulling away from him to touch his neck. He swallows a lump in his throat as you speak. 

Your fingers trail against his jaw, and though he tenses, he never pulls away; he almost leans against your touch. You smile. He reminds you of Peter. 

“I have to ask,” you begin,” does my savior want a kiss from his damsel?” 

Spider-Man freezes, his hands coming to pull your fingers away. You can’t see his face, but you think he feels guilty. 

“You... you just went on a d-date with Peter so—“

”It’s fine,” you argue, and he flinches. “You are Peter, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t respond and after a while you think you’re wrong. It’s mostly a joke anyway. Sure, it’s strange Peter disappears and he shows up to save the day, no Peter insight. Insists that he’s friends with Peter to get you home when you’re almost certain he would’ve come back for you. But maybe you’re wrong; looking too much into something that’s not there. You’re about to apologize when he speaks:

”Was I that obvious?” 

“C’mon Petey, I’m not that slow,” you say. You brush it off, but the fact you’re right makes your mind twirl. Peter Parker is Spider-Man? The Peter Parker, who can barely hold your hand, fights villains in his free time? 

“Then can I— um, do you still want to give me that kiss?” 

You can’t hold your laugh back. Maybe you’re rubbing on innocent, little Peter. 

“Of course.” 

Without any hesitation, you glide up to Peter. He tenses, but you can tell he’s excited. The poison speaks again, whispering you don’t deserve this. You shrug it off. Lightly pulling up the end of his mask, you bring your lips closer to his. The poison is harsher now, thrumming steadily into you. 

You can’t. You can’t bring yourself to do it. Your lips press against his cheek before you pull away, tugging his mask back down over his face. You nearly apologize, but Peter’s almost buzzing with excitement. He’s obviously just happy to be given affection, even if it’s not what he expected. For some reason that makes you feel worse. 

“Goodnight Peter,” you murmur gently, squeezing his covered hand again before stepping away from him. He says it back, tripping over his words, before he shoots off a web and disappears into the night. You think you can hear his yell of excitement as you go. 

Walking into your house, you let yourself slide down your front door. Exhaustion hangs darkly behind your eyelids, but you can’t bring yourself to get up just yet. 

You touch your lips, still warm from his cheek, but you can feel the poison seeping into them. You shut your eyes and decide to ignore it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these chapters are nearly a year old but never updated so my writing style will change after chapter four!


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